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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27604235">What It's Really Like</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GabiD57/pseuds/GabiD57'>GabiD57</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Man from Uncle - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:27:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,933</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27604235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GabiD57/pseuds/GabiD57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Three little words which don't come close...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Illya Kuryakin &amp; Napoleon Solo, man from - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What It's Really Like</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The words which appeared on their reports gave no indication of what it was really like to receive a beating. And though he and Illya could not be forced through such means to reveal any secret UNCLE information, their captors all too frequently simply enjoyed the infliction of physical pain.</p><p>Napoleon was shackled into a sturdy wooden chair with handcuffs and chains and forced to watch as his new young partner tried to fight off the Thrush thugs who had captured them as they were making their way out of the satrapy. The blond Russian was more than capable in close quarters combat, but had already been pistol-whipped by an overenthusiastic goon who hadn't looked fondly on Illya's attempt to protect his partner.</p><p>A large purple goose egg graced the Russian's temple and blood ran down the side of his face as he circled round the overlarge Thrush thugs who were clearly angered and determined to take it out on the slight young man. He stumbled occasionally as he tried to evade the men's grip, leaving Napoleon afraid that he was suffering concussion. After one such stumble, Illya's arm was caught and he was pulled off balance. He found himself quickly held between two of the men, dwarfed by their size, while the third sneered at him and told the others to hold him still.</p><p>A piledriver connected solidly with Illya's midsection, forcing the air from his lungs, but he was denied the comfort of curling into himself to try to ease the pain. His hair was roughly grabbed and his head jerked back while crude insults about his small size and taunts about his male prowess were hurled at him. Gasping for air and obviously in great pain, the young agent finally threw himself backward for leverage against the two men holding him and delivered a kick right between the legs of his attacker, who promptly sank to the floor, moaning and clutching his genitals.</p><p>Napoleon closed his eyes for a moment and found himself afraid to see what would happen next. He didn't have very long to wait.</p><p>The attacker stood up shakily, murderous intent in his eyes. He advanced on his slight opponent and grabbed his chin, turning the fair face from side to side. Illya's face, far from reflecting fear, showed utter disdain and contempt for the thug, enraging him all the more. Several more crushing blows were driven into the slight agent's midsection, and he retched from the blows. Napoleon was convinced that, between Illya's slenderness and the intensity of the punches, his spine might actually have been hit, as well, although his logical mind denied this possibility. The Russian was then dropped unceremoniously to the floor, where he lay retching and gasping, and apparently on the edge of passing out. Thug Man reached down and pulled Illya up by his hair, causing tears to spill from the sharp pain. Once again Illya was held between the arms of the other two thugs, who were basically bearing the weight of the nearly unconscious young man.</p><p>It didn't look good for him.</p><p>When a phone rang on the lab table, Thug Man picked the instrument up and had a brief conversation. At its conclusion he returned to Illya.</p><p>"Boss man says I can't kill you yet but he didn't say nuthin' about playing with you!" Napoleon's skin crawled at this. Though the partnership was still new, he had been on enough missions with his shy young partner to see how his youth and beauty drew the attention of Thrush's sexual sadists. This didn't bode well for the Russian.</p><p>Sure enough, Thug Man approached Illya with a leer on his face which was quickly matched by his fellow goons. Illya's eyes widened briefly before all emotion was blanked from his face. A meaty hand went to his belt buckle and undid the belt, wrenching it from the young agent's jeans. Napoleon bit his lip. Two hands next went to rip apart the black turtleneck when the sound of explosions and gunfire caused the Thrush thugs to drop Illya and rush from the room. Illya fell abruptly to his hands and knees but then painfully picked himself up and made his way to Napoleon's side.</p><p>A few seconds and the lockpick concealed in the brunet agent's shirt collar was all it took to free Napoleon. He stood quickly, shaking life back into his arms and hands, before grabbing his and his partner's Specials from the table on which they had been placed. Both agents, guns drawn, made their way out of the room and entered the fray raging through the Thrush satrapy's halls.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Late that evening, after stops with Mr. Waverly for debriefing and Medical for Illya, the two agents went to Napoleon's apartment three floors up from Illya's to fulfill the senior agent's promise to Medical to keep a close eye on his junior partner. The doctor had been reluctant to release the young agent, but had finally yielded to Napoleon's persuasive tongue and Illya's promises to behave himself while spending a few days recuperating at the senior agent's apartment. </p><p>An UNCLE cab dropped the two weary agents at their brownstone and they made their way to Napoleon's apartment. The first thing the brunet agent did was to draw a hot bath for his young partner, who was currently leaning against the wall of the livingroom by the entryway. He had stiffened up badly and was nearly unable to move. Napoleon guided him into the bathroom, made sure the toilet lid was down, and sat Illya down to check the water temperature. He knelt down to get his shoes and socks off, then stood him up again, noting the sudden sharp intake of breath and paling of his face. He undid Illya's jeans and slid them and his underwear down in one quick movement, then knelt down again to pull both over his feet one at a time while hands clutched his shoulders for balance. He rose and started to pull the dark turtleneck off, but Illya's moan stopped him. Glancing around, he pulled nail scissors from his medicine cabinet and quickly cut the garment off his hurting partner. </p><p>Finally he half-lifted the naked Russian into the tub and got him comfortably settled. Illya lay his head back against the folded towel placed there for him by his thoughtful partner, and gave himself up to the bliss of a long, hot soak.</p><p>In the meantime, Napoleon quickly changed into pajamas and found a pair for his partner. He put the kettle on for tea, found scotch and vodka and glasses, and changed the sheets on his double bed. He put Illya's pain meds next to the tea mugs, and fixed some quick soup as it was far too late for a delivery order. When his preparations were completed, he went to retrieve his partner from the cooling tub. </p><p>Illya was unable to get purchase enough to stand by himself, so Napoleon pushed up his pajama sleeves and reached down to help lift the hurting man to his feet. Illya was wrapped in a towel and rubbed down thoroughly before he could catch a chill, dressed in the too-large pajamas and had all four cuffs deftly rolled up, then led to the couch. He was fed soup and drank tea with his pills and then had a glass of vodka. After toothbrushing, Napoleon led his exhausted partner to the bed and helped him lie down. Any motion involving a val salva movement was agony for the young Russian, but Napoleon finally got him settled. He curled around Illya, pulling the blond head onto his shoulder, and within moments both agents were fast asleep.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Napoleon woke before his alarm in the morning and turned it off before it could wake his partner. After visiting the bathroom, he went to his kitchen to lay out some items for breakfast and then went to get his partner. As Illya came up out of sleep, he moaned ... a mournful, agonized sound which seemed to come from deep, deep within. Napoleon smoothed the silky hair back from the incredibly young face and gently shook him awake.</p><p>He was startled to see tears escaping from tightly clenched eyes, sliding down into the soft golden hair. The goose egg had subsided somewhat in size but an incredible deep purple bruise had blossomed over the entire side of Illya's face. The accompanying headache had to be phenomenal. Napoleon then lifted the hem of Illya's borrowed pajama top and gasped. </p><p>The multiple blows to Illya's midsection the previous day had resulted in spectacular bruising to most of Illya's abdomen. The bruising extended upward on the chest, went completely from side to side, and reached down past Illya's waist. The doctor had indicated that there were some bruised ribs, as well, but hadn't thought taping necessary despite Napoleon's description of the utter savagery of the blows. Illya opened his eyes and looked up into the concerned face of his partner.</p><p>"Bathroom," he managed to choke out as he attempted to rise. Napoleon leaned forward and helped Illya to his rather unsteady feet, lifting him almost bodily. The blond glanced at him gratefully and allowed himself to be helped to the toilet, where he required help to be able to stand properly. Once his business was concluded, he allowed himself to be led to the breakfast table. He gasped as he sat down and had to hold himself carefully in order to be able to breathe without folding over in pain. </p><p>Napoleon busied himself making a quick breakfast, making coffee for himself and tea for his partner. Illya took more pain pills but was unable to eat more than a couple of bites of food. Even with the pills he was too sore. Napoleon had to help him out of the chair and put him back in bed, where he fell back into a troubled sleep.</p><p>The rest of that day and the next consisted of the same basic pattern: rising in pain and only with assistance, using the bathroom only with assistance, and only a brief time at the table eating a mere couple bites of food before returning to bed. With assistance. Napoleon hated the moans of pain made by his stoic partner at the simplest of movements, but unfortunately it couldn't be helped or rushed. Luckily the blond's fitness levels and personal determination helped him cope. Having a kind partner as nursemaid didn't hurt, either. During this time the bruises continued to blossom until Illya looked as though he had been thoroughly doused in grape juice.</p><p>Finally on the third day Illya was able to maneuver himself around the apartment with minimal help from Napoleon. He took another long bath, this time in Epsom salts, and was finally able to dress in loose clothing Napoleon had retrieved from his apartment. Every movement was stiff, but manageable. Napoleon took him out for lunch and Illya ate ravenously and with great enjoyment. </p><p>The young Russian improved rapidly from that point, and was able to return to work with his partner. He garnered a great deal of attention from the ladies at Headquarters and Napoleon begrudged him not one bit of it. In fact, he found himself enjoying his shy partner's blushes and embarrassment at the attention immensely. Illya took him out to dinner that evening to a wonderful meal as thanks for his attention and help during his recovery, and the two looked forward to their next assignment.</p><p>"Suffered a beating," indeed ... three little words which couldn't begin to describe reality.</p>
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